The Doctor's Birthday
by Charlie'sLostVampire
Summary: Rose's attempt at a surprise baffles the Doctor and warms both of his hearts.


Over the past few weeks, Rose had found there was one question in particular nagging at her mind, and she'd come to the decision that morning as she was getting dressed that she was finally going to ask the Doctor about it.

"Do Time Lords have birthdays?"

The Doctor had looked up from the control panel when his companion spoke, his brow furrowing a bit. Out of all the questions she could ask him about the past and the future or about time and space, she chose to ask him whether or not he had a birthday?

"Everyone has a birthday, Rose," he responded, shaking his head and returning his attention to the buttons and knobs in front of him, "Everything has a birthday. Everything is born and everything dies, and it always happens on a specific date, no matter what species it is."

Rose made a face of consideration, nodding and staring at the ceiling as she lazily walked over to him, dragging her fingertips along the side of the control panel in a futile attempt at nonchalance.

"So… you _do_ have a birthday, then?"

"Yes."

"When is it?"

"What?"

"What?"

The Doctor had looked up at this question, his brow furrowing further and a small frown pulling at his lips, and Rose blinked her eyes in an innocent fashion. It's not like it was a big question; after all, he knew _her_ birthday. April 27th; they'd had cupcakes.

"Just asked you when your birthday was," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest, and the Doctor blinked, unsure of how exactly to respond.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"What?"

"Oh, _what?_"

Sighing, the Doctor flipped a final switch before crossing his own arms and leaning back against the console, shaking his head. "It's a complicated area, Time Lord birthdays. You sort of… lose track after the first few centuries. You never forget the actual date, of course, but it's difficult to remember how many times that date has gone by when you're constantly fluctuating between different time periods. So we… _I_… typically just tick off another year every 365 days on the TARDIS."

"But it is on a specific day, yeah?" she asked, trying to get him to tell her without asking outright, but he wasn't making it easy on her.

"Yes."

Finally, she decided to just bluntly ask him.

"Well, what day _is_ it?"

"Why does it matter?" he asked her in exasperation, and she shook her head, growing just as frustrated.

"Because it does!"

"_Why?_"

"It just… it does!"

They both continued to stubbornly stare at each other for a few more moments before he sighed, shaking his head as he muttered, "February 16th. By Earth's standards, my birthday is February 16th. Happy?"

She grinned like a child who had just been promised candy, nodding and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Perfectly."

… . … . … . … . …

After that odd morning, Rose seemed to have dropped the subject entirely, and the Doctor still wasn't entirely sure why it had mattered so much. Why bother asking if she was never going to bring it up again?

He had almost forgotten about the conversation entirely until he woke up one morning to the smell of something burning. Of course, disaster would strike the one bloody time he decided to get a few hours of sleep. What could it possibly be? Daleks? Oh, please don't be Daleks. Clad in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, the Doctor tore out of his bedroom and down the hall, bursting into the room that Rose slept in and going as white as a sheet when he found her bed empty. Whoever was behind this, if they'd harmed a hair on his companion's head, they would realize quickly enough that they had made a very, _very_ serious mistake.

"_Rose!_"

He was answered by the sound of coughing, and he skidded to a stop in the hall, frowning as he approached the kitchen and noticed that the smoke was coming from in there. Hurrying the rest of the way, he rushed in only to find that there was no immediate threat; Rose Tyler was standing in the kitchen alone, her blonde hair messy and caked with flour, a pout resting on her lips. She was staring almost angrily at the charred remains of… something in a pan, looking as if she might cry.

"Five bloody tries! I've been at it half the night and into the morning and it just gets worse each time!"

"And just what were you trying to accomplish?" he questioned, fanning away some of the smoke and walking over to her, glancing at the pan again.

"A cake! I wanted to bake a cake, and the only thing I didn't muck up was the frosting."

Huffing, she gestured to the bowl of white whipped frosting on the counter, and the Doctor felt his confusion grow even more.

"Why exactly have you been up half of the night and into the morning trying to bake a cake?"

Her pout returned at his words, and she shook her head, brushing a floury strand of blonde hair out of her eyes, only managing to get more on it in the process.

"For your birthday, of course. Seems only right after all you've done for me. I wanted to make it special, and I couldn't even bake the cake."

Pulling out her phone, she showed him the date that it read, and he blinked, cracking a slight smile. February 16th.

"So that's why you wanted to know."

"Yes," she confirmed with an unhappy nod, and the Doctor chuckled, once again examining the burnt contents of her pan. "Some good it did. Now the surprise is ruined and there wasn't even much of a surprise to begin with."

She moved to grab the pan to dump the evidence and he quickly stopped her, shaking his head.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

It was her turn to be confused now, frowning as he snatched the pan away and shook his head.

"It's burnt. I was gonna toss it."

"_Toss_ it? Rose Tyler, don't you dare!"

She blinked at him, baffled, and her eyes widened when he grabbed a spoon to slather the cake in frosting, speaking as he did so, "Cakes on Gallifrey were considered absolute rubbish unless they were extremely well done. Burnt cakes were a delicacy."

It was a boldface lie, but he wasn't about to have her feeling bad when her actions had been the most thoughtful thing anyone had done for him in decades. She gave him a suspicious look when he spoke, shaking her head.

"You're pulling my leg," she accused him, and he huffed as if he took offense to her statement, digging the spoon in and taking a large bite of the crumbly cake. He couldn't even tell what flavour it was supposed to be, it was so burnt, but he grinned through his mouthful just the same, swallowing and taking another. He'd eat the whole thing if he had to just to convince her.

"I would never," he disagreed, and a slight smile pulled at her lips, her cheeks flushing when he swooped down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, Rose Tyler."

"You're welcome," she told him with a small grin, shaking her head and causing a bit of the flour in her hair to fall to the floor. "Happy birthday, Doctor."


End file.
